啊,这些茉莉,
这些洁白的茉莉!
我依稀记得我的双手第一次
捧满了这些茉莉花.
这些洁白的茉莉花的时候.
我曾爱那阳光,
爱那天空还有那绿色的大地;
我曾在漆黑的午夜聆听那河水淙淙的呢喃;
秋日的夕阳,在荒原道路的转弯处迎接我,
好像新娘掀起她的面纱迎接她的爱人.
然而,我回忆起孩提时第一次
捧在手里的洁白茉莉,
心理充满了甜蜜的回忆.
我生平有过许多快乐的日子,
在节日盛典的夜晚,
我曾经与狂欢者一同大笑
在细雨霏霏的清晨,
我吟唱过许多闲散的歌谣.
我颈上也曾戴着爱人用手织就
的"芭库拉丝"黄昏花环.
然而,我回忆起孩提是第一次捧着手里
的洁白茉莉,心里充满了甜蜜的回忆.
The first jasmine
Tagore
AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road
in the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil
to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.
Many a glad day has come in my life,
and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.
On grey mornings of rain
I have crooned many an idle song.
I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of
BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.
Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines
that filled my hands when I was a child.
这些洁白的茉莉!
我依稀记得我的双手第一次
捧满了这些茉莉花.
这些洁白的茉莉花的时候.
我曾爱那阳光,
爱那天空还有那绿色的大地;
我曾在漆黑的午夜聆听那河水淙淙的呢喃;
秋日的夕阳,在荒原道路的转弯处迎接我,
好像新娘掀起她的面纱迎接她的爱人.
然而,我回忆起孩提时第一次
捧在手里的洁白茉莉,
心理充满了甜蜜的回忆.
我生平有过许多快乐的日子,
在节日盛典的夜晚,
我曾经与狂欢者一同大笑
在细雨霏霏的清晨,
我吟唱过许多闲散的歌谣.
我颈上也曾戴着爱人用手织就
的"芭库拉丝"黄昏花环.
然而,我回忆起孩提是第一次捧着手里
的洁白茉莉,心里充满了甜蜜的回忆.
The first jasmine
Tagore
AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road
in the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil
to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.
Many a glad day has come in my life,
and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.
On grey mornings of rain
I have crooned many an idle song.
I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of
BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.
Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines
that filled my hands when I was a child.